My children are upstairs on what should be their nap. I'm listening as they squeal, giggle, and drop things (loudly) on the floor. I think that Violet is now sleeping as I can only hear the staccato of Milo's voice and the shushing waves of the white noise machine. And now I hear him whispering -- which is what he does when his sister is fast asleep and he's still fighting sleep like it's a mortal enemy. The child needs a nap -- he's been more emotional than a PMSing teenager today. Now he's calling, "Mommy!" hopefully because he thinks I'll bring him downstairs. I love listening to the kids over the monitor... Milo frequently narrates books and one can truly appreciate the bond between their children when the kids think they're conspiring to pull one over on mom.
It's been one of those mornings and I am not going to be quick to rescue Milo from his room. He's been pretending that he's the Grinch and is stealing all of the "holly-dolly Cwistmas" stuff from Cindy-Lou Who. Which means that he's filling any bucket, bag, or box with all of the toys from every container in the house. Violet is acting the full-on sidekick, having pulled a pair of his underwear over her footie pajamas and spiked her hair with applesauce. My patience has run thin today, and for that I am ashamed.
I am daunted by knowing that the rest of this month and most of next month will still be isolated for me. Scott is at work on a production for a touring Christmas show. The very amature organizers are needing lots of hand-holding and the dinky spaces into which it has been booked are thwarting his technical efforts. Then he will be out of town for deer hunting, too. The following weekend, he's back to touring and, I think, he's at that until practically Christmas. I know that he's doing this to ease our debt, but part of me is exasperated -- with him gone for 2/3 of the month, I managed to keep our checking account in the black and not dip into savings to make ends meet -- a first since June... I am having big misgivings about a trip to California that he desperately wants to take in May. It's not that I don't want to see our friends, but maybe if we didn't take that trip, maybe we might see more of him in an average month because he wouldn't feel the need to freelance for cash.
I want very much to go see my sister after she welcomes her little boy to the world, but I don't know how to pay for a plane ticket at this point. And when I mentioned it to Scott, I actually felt a bit like Sarah Palin because he immediately asked, "You'll be taking Violet, won't you?" Why? Why can't I take three or four days without my kids? I adore them, but I haven't been separated from Violet for more than a work-day her entire life. Yes, she's still nursing twice a day. But she doesn't NEED to and, I think, it doesn't occur to her if I'm not aruond. I think that when he mentions the first of his sabbatical trips, I'll likely ask him, "You'll be taking Milo, won't you?"
I'm quite certain that I'm feeling this resentment because I'm so very used to Scott being an equal parent -- our philosophy is that the only thing I can do that he can't is breastfeed. The kids adore him and he is tremendous with them. And, hey, when he's alone with the kids for more than an afternoon, his parents leap to the task, inviting them out for the afternoon to help out and such. I guarantee that he wouldn't have to spend weekend after weekend without seeing a soul... I guess one gets used to the functionality of a two parent home and, knowing that the home is one-parent at the moment (mostly by choice) is worse than knowing that your the only parent, ever. I dunno... now I feel all whiny.
It must just be different for mothers. Nobody assumes that our children are the fifth and sixth appendages of their father, but any time I'm anywhere alone, I am always asked, "Where are the kids?" This makes it pretty clear to me that I would be a terrible stay-at-home mom. Like, seriously bad. And that my temper would quickly get the worst of me about which I would feel endless guilt. Kinda like the Grinch after he's stolen Christmas from the Whos.
Scott came home from NYC to find Milo not only pooping on the potty, but doing it entirely by himself, wiping and all. OK, I still do a quick bum check, but the process is all him. And Violet is talking about three times as much as when he left. And who knows what our little Whos will do between now and Christmas that he will miss... By the time he's around, it just might be my (finally napping -- I hear the snoring) Milo carving the "woast beast."